


first contact

by forochel



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-07
Updated: 2009-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-02 23:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forochel/pseuds/forochel





	first contact

 

 

Edmund sends his own spies to the revels. They come back after a week, addled and with a wild light in their eyes, pressing vine leaves into Edmund's hand wordlessly. When he questions them, they smile and tell him that Bacchus calls, and that it is the revels. When he asks what the Revels are like, they tell him that it is the Revels. The Bacchanalia, his mind whispers at him, tatters of half-remembred stories read in the other place, his distant past. When Edmund, finally, after his best spy comes back dancing and lighter of cloven foot that is usual, which is very light indeed, loses his patience and demands, "Is it dangerous?" the spy laughs at him, a dry chuckle that Edmund was once fond of.

"My Lord, we run with a god!" he says with amusement, "what does it matter, danger or no? What can you do? Bacchus calls for you, Master." There is a sympathetic look in his wise eyes, as if the spy knows some of the hollow pool in Edmund's chest, the throbbing in his veins that none of his siblings seems to have felt. Edmund meets the look evenly and holds his hand out silently for the inevitable ivy leaf.

 

 

The revelry has infused all of the court, it seems, as Bacchus draws ever nearer to Cair Paravel; Edmund no longer sends his own to the revels, and tells the staid centaurs and dwarves the courtly equivalent of "bugger off" when they attempt to bring the revels up to court attention again; he has seen their numbers dwindling as Bacchus draws them in. The wild look lingers in more and more eyes after a few days' absence from court. His siblings fret about him as his moodiness grows with the fever in his blood, and Edmund hides from himself in his laws and learning more than ever. It is Lucy who one day suggests to Susan over tea that they go to the revels, part childish spite and part genuine curiosity. Mr Tumnus has been already, and he won't tell her anything but what fun it is, and she wants to know what it is that Edmund is so afraid of.

Edmund flinches when Lucy says, "Shouldn't we just go see for ourselves, Su?"; Peter's brows knit together, but he says nothing, as Edmund has reported that "the revels are largely harmless, though it would serve us well to be wary."

 

 

That night they slip away, and Peter runs to Edmund's room. He bursts in shouting.

"Edmund! The girls have gone to the revelry! We have to go get them."

Peter looks incredulously on as Edmund shrinks into his bedclothes.

"I can't, " Edmund, says looking up at Peter, eyes vulnerable and large. Peter is forcibly reminded that Edmund is fifteen, barely on the cusp of manhood. He sits down on the edge of the bed, making sure not to touch Edmund.

"Why not?"

There is a pause as Edmund burrows further into his pillows, hands twisting nervously in his blankets. Uncharacteristic, Peter thinks worriedly, and reaches out to hold his brother's hands still. But Edmund pulls away and says, small and stilted and scared, "I - just - cannot."

Peter frowns.

"What he means is he does not want to."

The words come from a boy at the window sill, lounging over it as though it were a broad bough rather than a narrow stone ledge.

"Bacchus," Edmund says flatly.

And Peter thinks to himself, "Oh. Oh dear."

Edmund is all straight lines and stiff back now, the Just wrapping around him like a protection against the mostly-naked god in his window.

Peter is frozen in place on the far side of the bed, unable to move against the sheer presence of Bacchus; it is as if an especially heady wine is sinking into his skin and bones. He wonders how Edmund manages to stay so tense, one hand fisted unconsciously in the blankets and trembling very slightly. This especially so with the weight of Bacchus' gaze solely on him, voice light and mocking as he sing-songs, "I have come for you, will you not come?" With a flash of movement Bacchus crowds onto the bed, kneeling over Edmund, and Peter really ought to be doing something to protect his little brother's honour, which is clearly at stake here. Edmund stills momentarily as Bacchus grazes his cheek with his knuckles, almost tenderly.

"No," he says coldly, and then there are two daggers lodged in the wood panelling decorating the window, vines creeping out of the woodwork and binding the daggers in place. Bacchus is no longer on the bed, and Peter breathes easier for that, until he realises that Edmund has just _attacked a god_.

But Bacchus is laughing as he sprawls out on the floor.

"So stubborn, little King."

His eyes flicker to Peter and Bacchus tells him that "your sisters are safe, High King, but you are welcome to join us as well, if you so wish to. No doubt my lord Edmund will keep your kingdom well."

There is something about the way Bacchus says _my lord Edmund_ that unsettles Peter and makes Edmund jump up on his bed, suddenly furious and pink with it, shouting "Go!" at Bacchus. Bacchus only smiles at that, tilting his head mockingly.

"I go, my lord, and still I call."

 

 

It is only after Bacchus has dropped away into the darkness that Peter turns to Edmund, having got off the bed to inspect the window. Edmund looks faintly ridiculous standing on the bed in his nightshirt, knobbly teenaged knees showing underneath the hem.

"That...was strange, to say the least." Peter says.

Edmund looks down at him and sighs.

"Go join Lucy and Su, Peter, I know you want to." Edmund collapses back into the bed, sitting Indian-style.

"Don't you? want to, I mean, " Peter asks curiously, before he can stop himself. He winces at himself, and knows that Edmund knows; amusement plays about the edges of Edmund's mouth. But he's already started, so he may as well persist. "Well? Don't you _want_ to go?"

Edmund looks faintly annoyed now, but the disquiet in his eyes from Bacchus' untimely visit hasn't quite faded yet.

"I don't know, " Edmund grits out, "I. It isn't that simple, Peter."

Peter raises his eyebrows, "You _do_ tend to complicate things, _Edmund_."

"And _you_ tend to oversimplify them!" Edmund shoots back, stung.

Peter pauses to collect himself, and then puts a hand on Edmund's shoulder.

"You might be happier, Ed, if you let some things be."

Edmund looks up at him and says, "That isn't my job."

Peter sighs and squeezes his shoulder, "I know. Rest well, Edmund, I'm going to collect our errant siblings."

Edmund lays down and turns away. Peter barely resists rolling his eyes as he walks out of the room.

And stops at the door when Edmund mutters into his pillows, "Follow the sound of panpipes, and go out the kitchen gates."

 


End file.
